


Back to the Studio

by Doceo_Percepto



Series: Bendy's Murderous Adventure Across Moominvalley [30]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Lazy having inappropriate reactions as always, Other, POV Second Person, a tiny touch of corpse desecration?, idk what this story is, shortly after Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doceo_Percepto/pseuds/Doceo_Percepto
Summary: You indulge your friend's decision to visit the animation studio he calls home.





	Back to the Studio

Bendy killed Happy.

You sort of assumed he was going to sooner or later. It was a testament to the great care Bendy took with him (and your medical interventions) that the poor Snufkin hadn’t gone and died earlier.

But Bendy had killed him at last, and you had been expecting it for some time, what with the particularly ravenous way the demon had been looking at Happy lately.

Tragically, despite all your foresight about Happy’s death, you hadn’t at all prepared for the reality of it.

Now – you yourself don’t mind too much. You had a great fondness for Happy, but all Snufkins are ephemeral and it was a miracle Happy had survived as long as he had. You would always remember him fondly, but would not let his passing disturb the present.

So it is not necessarily the reality of his death that you must now navigate, but the reality of Bendy’s reaction to his death.

The demon had grown intensely attached. It was something you had seen in briefer flits with previous Snufkins – Bendy’s strange affinity to develop lasting feelings for Snufkins, to such an extent that he might miss them even after killing them. But Bendy had not kept any other Snufkin for so long as Happy; had never become so inextricably entwined with one. The two were, you had to admit, entirely in love in a manner unmatched by any other predator and prey, and they had been for many many years (you haven’t bothered keeping track, but it does feel that Happy had been a settled occupant of your nest for a very long time).

That had been well and good while Happy was alive.

Now that he is decidedly _not_ , it bodes very badly, in your opinion.

You did try to warn Bendy. As soon as his teeth punctured into Happy’s belly (and as soon as you got over your shock), you reminded him from the relative safety of your canoe that Happy was his and surely he didn’t truly want to kill him? But Bendy had always been prone to excitement. You watched with very mixed feelings as the monstrosity bit and maimed and shook Happy’s body like a puppet, before electing to tear his organs out and crawl into his mutilated chest cavity.

It all happened quite fast, like a whirlwind, and you were helpless to stopping it. At some point you stopped trying to say anything and merely hunkered down in your canoe, with just the smallest of concerns that Bendy might elect to go after you next. But that was a silly thought, because you're a Joxter, and Joxters are not prey.

He did not go after you, as it happened. He simply became a puddley amorphous mess clinging to Happy’s body.

He hasn’t moved from that position. It’s been a few hours, and you're beginning to wonder how exactly you ought to approach this situation. You're hungry, and you'd like to get some berries, but you're unsure how Bendy will respond to movement elsewhere in the nest.

That uncertainty keeps you dozing in your nest for another hour or so before you decide. Bendy is generally a practical individual. He’ll understand your need to get food, and if he doesn’t, well, that’s quite rude and he needs a talking-to.

So you clamber out of the canoe, a cautious eye trained on the lumpy black mass huddled over Happy’s body. When nothing moves or changes, you nod purposefully and trot off to get some berries.

While you eat, your thoughts are blissfully blank, just as you like them. You return to the canoe to find that Bendy still hasn’t moved, and your brow furrows. Now that Happy is gone, it seems that you ought to be getting rid of his corpse and finding a new Snufkin to pad the nest. Perhaps a few. You’ve been feeling somewhat lonely as of late, despite the present company and Happy. A collection of Snufkins would probably fix that right up.

But you can’t go acquiring such a thing by yourself.

You shuffle back into your canoe and watch Bendy thoughtfully - or rather, watch the large black puddle that he currently is. Happy is buried somewhere under that, but you don’t understand what all this clinging is about. He isn’t coming back. If Bendy didn’t want to him dead, he shouldn't have killed him.

Oh, but you do sympathize. Sometimes Snufkins are so pretty you go and do things you don’t mean to. You assume this is more or less the same. Still, he’s quite dead. This seems redundant.

Huffing, you sip from your canteen. Bah, the water’s stale…

You’re feeling oddly restless - an unusual feeling for a Joxter, but while the energy lasts, you hop out of the canoe again and head to the creek, refilling your canteen.

Upon your return you're delighted to find that Bendy has finally extricated himself from Happy’s now ink-stained corpse, and reformed into his smaller form.

“Hullo,” you greet amicably, largely as a gauge of his mood.

“We have to bring him back,” Bendy responds, which is admittedly not the sort of response you were expecting.

“Snufkins don’t come back, darling.”

“I can make him come back,” Bendy says it with such certainty that you falter. Your friend does have unusual and incredible powers, but he’s never shown the ability to revive something dead - and you'd think a thing like that would come up after a good decade or so. What’s dead stays dead.

“Perhaps you shouldn't have killed him if you wanted him alive?” you note.

“No, I can bring him back. Or - or I might be able to-“ He looks frantic, and you wonder if the distress of losing Happy has made him lose his mind. It doesn’t seem like something he’d be susceptible to, but you squint in concern all the same.

“I can’t do it here,” he continues, “I need the studio, and the Ink Machine.”

He appears to have come to some decision, because he grasps Happy’s limp wrist intently.

“Hold on,” you interject. “What exactly are you doing?”

“I’m gonna take him home.”

“Home?” you echo. For a long while, this nest has been his home, and yours as well. But he has spoken of a different home before, the place that he came from. You never fully understood exactly where he had come from, and your curiosity has not been such to enquire further into it. All you know is that it is somewhere very different from the world you know, inhabited by creatures you do not understand.

“The animation studio,” he confirms, which does little to elucidate you. He's explained the concept once, but it’s always been nebulous to you.

“How far away is it?” you ask, already exhausted by the thought. You always sort of assumed there was a _reason_ Bendy didn’t go back home, given that he spoke very fondly of the place but never proposed to go until now.

“Right here.” Bendy waved his hand vaguely, “c’mon Jox. Hurry up if ya wanna come along, otherwise I’m leaving without you.”

Huh. You really aren’t sure still where he’s leaving to. Both curiosity and trepidation are piqued. “I do hope this isn’t a long trip,” you tell him, and meander over. “Happy isn’t worth that much effort, darling.”

“Happy’s worth everything.”

You sigh. You suppose you'll have to indulge his strange fancies, if it means he gets some closure about Happy (and can finally drop the whole matter enough to get a new Snufkin).

At any rate, he grabs your wrist as well, and you have just enough time to wonder why this trip requires hand-holding (not that you're entirely opposed) before dozens of thin veins of ink seize your forearm. In seconds they have scrawled across the entirety of your body, and just as you recoil like a trapped animal, the entire world goes black.

The ink recedes.

You blink.

You are not in Moominvalley. Not at all.

You blink several times, as if the place you see now is an afterimage that will vanish once your vision clears. But your vision doesn’t clear.

Everything is very dark; it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. Once they do, you see lots of boards - a house of some sort? There is no sunlight, no windows. The walls are cramped and small. The air is suffocating and so thickly suffused with ink that you cough.

“This is your home?” you inquire.

“We gotta get to the Ink Machine,” he replies, “I can do it pretty much anywhere in the studio, but we gotta make sure this works, ’n, well… I never brought someone back like this. The machine’ll help things along, probably…”

“Like this?” you say, and notice a book on a nearby table. _Moominvalley in November_ , it reads. How curious-

“Most of the time they’re already mine,” Bendy explains, which is unhelpful until he adds, “ink creatures, yanno? Those I can bring back and kill over n over n over again, as many times as I want. But if someone dies and they’re not ink-“ Bendy glances at Happy’s corpse, and for a second there’s a panicky look on his face, before he grins quite insincerely, “I mean, it’s harder… a lot harder… but I’m sure I can do it!”

“What a strange place.” You reach for the book, but Bendy grabs you first.

“C’mon, let’s go-“

“I-“ you begin, but the ink seizes you again, and again you’re dizzyingly transported.

Suddenly, you're in another room entirely - a room nearly overwhelmed by a single immense machine, the sight of which makes you feel a deep-rooted primordial dread. “Oh,” you say. The air is thicker here. Harder to breathe. It inspires another bout of coughing.

“Joxter,” Bendy announces, gesturing, “Ink Machine. Ink Machine, Joxter.”

“Oh! Hullo. How do you do?” That seems appropriate. It doesn’t respond, but you're not sure if it’s supposed to. You sidle closer and give it a little pat while Bendy drags Happy’s body under its wide spout.

This is a very different world with very different rules, you can tell quite easily. It makes you feel numb and fuzzy, a bit like this is a dream. Though, you don’t think you could have ever imagined such a thing yourself - it’s dim, heavy, decidedly evil if you believed in such things. To tell the truth, you don’t much like this place. But it’s where Bendy came from, and surely you can be polite enough to tolerate it for the time being.

There’s a splashing of ink behind you, and you turn.

There’s another creature here! It’s a large, hulking creature, with a big loose mouth, and clawing hands - no discernible legs - and it’s dragging itself towards you.

“What is that?” you ask.

Bendy hisses and then before your eyes, the strange creature’s flesh boils and bubbles and its mouth gapes in a silent scream. Soon there is nothing left of the creature apart from a faint burnt smell.

“They should know not t’interrupt,” Bendy mutters as he fiddles with the controls on the side of the machine.

“Hrm.” You smooth your coat down and keep an eye out for any additional surprises.

“C’mere-“ Bendy waves his hand frantically; you join him by the machine. “Hold this,” he directs, and you obey, grabbing the indicated lever and keeping it held down. It’s large - meant for larger hands than yours, you imagine. Humans, Bendy had once told you.

“Was that a human?” You ask, looking back to the puddle where the creature had been. How strange humans were!

Bendy doesn’t reply, and you see it’s because he’s cradling Happy again, licking his face.

“Is this part of the process?” You ask, genuinely interested.

He tears away. “I just like him a lot,” he answers, voice tight. “I - I don’t know if this is gonna work, Jox. He’s already dead, an’ he didn’t have any ink in his blood at the time he died-”

Frankly, you don't believe this will work. Happy’s in pieces, the poor dear, his leg dangling by a thread, and his guts either missing or shredded. He smells quite horrible, if you can pick up the scent beneath the all-consuming reek of ink. But Bendy had bothered to bring you all here, and set up the machine however it must be set up. It’s only right to see things through, for better or worse. “There’s only one way to find out, darling. What shall I do to help?”

“Hang tight.”

Bendy slaps his hand over a button on the side of the machine. The grinding screech it makes nearly causes you to let go of the lever, but you gather your wits. Bendy isn’t responding in a negative way to this beast of a machine, so this must be normal.

A moment later, and there’s a startling spurt of ink out of the spout that in your opinion, is rather erotic. It entirely bathes Happy’s corpse.

“Humm.” You’re reminded that Happy hasn’t been dead long enough for his body to rot, and that you could likely find or make a pleasant orifice on him somewhere. But Bendy hadn’t liked you touching Happy while the Snufkin was alive - you very much doubt he’ll appreciate it now that Happy is dead. Alas. You scold yourself for your insensitivity. Your need can wait for the next Snufkin to come along, or for Bendy to be in a suitable mood.

Bendy, meanwhile, has leaned over Happy’s ink-soaked corpse. You don’t know exactly what he’s doing, pawing and sifting through the pile of ink. Whatever it is, his gestures are becoming increasingly frantic.

It all seems a bit redundant to you, but you patiently wait. There’s presumably some process to this, and Bendy will need to run through all his options before he’s satisfied.

His tail twitches anxiously near his heels. It didn't work, you know. You're not sure what he's looking for or doing, but finally he tears away from Happy's still limp body, and he sways in place. He looks as though he’s going to be sick.

"Now now," you start, only to be interrupted by a very smooth voice indeed,

"Bendy," it says in a gasp. 

Oh! There’s someone in the doorway. A very very tall someone, nearly twice your height, and he’s wearing a mask in the likeness of Bendy. His body, much like Bendy’s, is ink-black.

He steps nearer, tentatively, as if disbelieving.

“Hello there,” you greet.

“My Lord,” the tall thing breathes. You can’t really tell what he’s looking at, but you assume it’s Bendy. You're not even sure he has noticed you at all.

Bendy whips around. His expression swiftly cycles through several emotions until it finally crumples, “ _Sammy_ ,” he whines as he bolts and scrambles into the other’s arms.

Sammy staggers and then gingerly readjusts his arms to better cradle the demon. You remember now - Bendy has mentioned this individual a handful of times, and you’re glad to finally put a face to the name, even if the face is well, hidden behind a mask. You aren’t sure what you imagined Sammy looked like, but this giant of a creature is not it.

At any rate, as soon as Bendy leaps into his arms, he’s entirely absorbed with the demon’s presence, clutching him close and curling faintly around him. Bendy is crying - or something close to it. You're not entirely sure the demon is capable of crying to begin with (it’s certainly not something you’ve ever witnessed), but his back is shaking. His tail is wrapped around the creature’s wrist, and his face buried in the crook of his arm.

“What is it?” Sammy utters, his deep voice nearly trembling. “My Lord, what happened? Where have you been all this time?”

Bendy answers none of these questions, only coiling up tighter in Sammy’s grip. Sammy turns his masked face towards you.

“Is it this sheep that has kept you away from me?” he accuses coldly. “Or who is bothering you, my most magnificent God?”

“I am the Joxter,” you reply, affronted. “And I dare say I’m not causing any trouble for him. We get along marvelously.”

Sammy’s large hands tighten around Bendy’s curled form. Ah, jealousy. What fuss. You throw up your hands. “I have no interest in stealing him away from you or any such nonsense. If you know him at all, you should know he does as he pleases.”

“What have you done to him?” Sammy growls.

You sigh. “Dear, he’s upset about killing a Snufkin.” You wave your hand towards the lumpy mass that was once Happy, and Sammy follows the gesture silently. “If there’s anybody to be mad at, it’s Bendy himself, and he knows it.”

“My Lord can do no wrong.”

You huff. This Sammy fellow is delusional. But it’s him Bendy has chosen to run to for comfort, not you, so you imagine there’s something about him Bendy prefers right now.

“He’s spoken very highly of you,” you inform Sammy, figuring credit ought to be given where credit was due.

Sammy makes a soft noise close to a moan. He handles Bendy extraordinarily gentle - both as if he is handling the most delicate of glass, or the sharpest of knives. You can nearly feel his terror and awe in the thick air.

There is nothing more you can do, you suspect, so you arrange your cloak a bit and frown at Happy’s ink-ridden corpse. Does he plan to simply leave it here? Perhaps he’ll eat it. Even in death, Happy is quite pretty. For the second time you feel a furl of arousal, and then you stifle it again. _Manners_ (and you’d rather not invoke Bendy’s wrath).

The demon seems to have gotten over his small fit, and he’s fallen into soft murmurs with Sammy - Bendy sounding rather miserable, and Sammy like a caress. What a voice! Richer than yours, even. No wonder Bendy likes him.

Perhaps Bendy’s explaining now what happened with Happy. Or where he’s been all these years.

You’re just beginning to wonder how long this might take (the trip has been interesting, yes, but you rather miss the canoe and the outdoors…) when Bendy moves sharply.

Your attention flicks to them in time to see Bendy wrap his gloved hands around Sammy’s throat. In the next second, he snaps his neck. Sammy falls; Bendy rolls off and stands up.

“Oh!” You blink at Sammy’s body, crumpled up on the floor like used tissue paper. You hadn't anticipated that at all.

“It’s better for him,” Bendy explains. “He’ll just miss me otherwise. I’ll remake him again when I come back.”

“Naturally,” you say faintly.

“Because he’s made of ink. Easy t’bring ‘em back then. But if they’re not…”

“Happy was the best Snufkin there was,” you concede.

“I don’t think I’m gonna keep another one like him,” Bendy agrees quietly.

“Sometimes it’s like that,” you acknowledge, though truthfully you can’t relate at all. Happy was lovely - absolutely a favorite in your memory - but once a Snufkin has come and gone, that is that.

Bendy glances at Happy’s corpse. “Let’s go back to Moominvalley.”


End file.
